I wish I could say I was inspired to start the whole thing after reading Thoreau’s Resistance to Civil Government, but it was probably my Soundgarden tee-shirt that was the inspiration more so than anything else. I hadn’t read any Thoreau yet. The back of the tee-shirt shows Soundgarden fall 1989 tour dates and above it all says "US vs. U.S." as in Soundgarden takes on the United States of America, get it? Unfortunately, most people don’t because they always read it and say "us versus us."
Anyway, I don’t know if technically I started this whole thing or not, because it wasn’t me who was moving all those troops into Saudi Arabia. I’ll admit my whole escapade started with my blatant lie. I went to the post office and asked for one of those cards you fill out for the Selective Service registration. "Just fill it out here and give it back to me." said the clerk helpfully. "Can I take it with me? It’s for my little brother." I lied. I’m the youngest in my family.
I filled out the stupid card. It sure seemed a lot bigger than the one I filled out when I was eighteen. Then I wrote VOID across it with a magic marker. I attached the card to a letter I addressed to the Selective Service stating that this was my notice of withdrawal from the Selective Service - my reasons being as follows: 1) Old people make the wars and expect the young to fight them. 2) You can get drafted before you’re old enough to buy beer. These things being unfair in my mind, you know?
Well, I think it was about three weeks later when I got the government’s response. (And I’ve lost their letter somehow, yet I’ve got every issue of Sports Illustrated since July of 1980, you’d think the FBI would at least leave thank-you notes after they’ve forced entry into your apartment.) Their letter came from Cleveland (?) and was written by the Executive Director (or some title like that) of the Selective Service and told me I couldn’t withdraw from the Service and summarized the steps for being a conscientious objector - whose final step is to be approved by the President, like George knew me well enough to decide whether I should be cannon fodder or not.
In other words, their letter ducked mine altogether. You see, I could withdraw from the Selective Service - I stated it in my letter. Obviously, these people had never heard of the pursuit of happiness and all that stuff, you know?
Well that was that. Or so I thought. I knew I was in trouble if I ever got selected "in case of national emergency." I’d go straight to prison because no one would ever buy that I was a conscientious objector. I’m just a Lutheran, not a Quaker or Amish or anything like that.
A couple of weeks after the notorious Cleveland Letter, I received a card in the mail from the Selective Service. They lost track of my address a few years ago (I was in college and refused to update it with them) and were wondering what it currently was. Think about it. The Government sent mail to my address and was wondering what my address was! What next? They would call me and ask for my phone number? I laughed out loud. These guys are REALLY FUCKING STUPID.
Burned up by this and also kind of bothered that I let them find me again, I struck my second blow. And I wish I could say this one was inspired by Thoreau, but it was really inspired by a part in The Blues Brothers.
So now the Uptown Bar on Hennepin Avenue South is getting all my mail and phone calls from the Selective Service. I don’t feel bad, though. I tip big when I’m there.
- written in 1991
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